


Til the Sun Comes Up

by lonniek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, Derek is a dancer at a club, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Scott and Stiles make out when Stiles is faded, Sex at a club, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4170996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonniek/pseuds/lonniek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Scott lets Stiles make out with him when he's faded. He's also the best wingman ever, really, and he doesn't even judge when Stiles falls in love with no less than seven asses. But the dancer, the one they call Big D, Stiles swears that's the ass he's been waiting for.</p><p>OR</p><p>I've listened to Nicki Minaj's Anaconda one too many times and picturing Derek as a club dancer is really really hot?????</p>
            </blockquote>





	Til the Sun Comes Up

**Author's Note:**

> THIS ALL HAPPENED BECAUSE [CLARA](http://clarz.tumblr.com) WAS SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED AND SPEWING PORN ON THE INTERNET ALL DAY AND I HAD TO COME HOME AND WRITE THIS IMMEDIATELY.

Stiles is high as _fuck_ , and his cock throbs to the raging beat and the bass pumping through the speakers that he can feel from the floor. He’s slung across Scott, grabbing his ass and grinding against him shamelessly while they make out. Or rather, while Stiles kisses Scott and Scott, good-naturedly, allows it to happen. Stiles is glad in ways that words can’t describe that Scott is the kind of best friend who lets him kiss him when he’s wasted. Stiles always got the same smile and shrug the next day when Allison would text him pictures of the hickeys he’d left on her boyfriend and Stiles would cringe and apologize.

“I’d rather have you make out with me than leave with a creep or cry because nobody will kiss you.” And since both had happened before, Stiles thinks that maybe he has the best, most caring heterosexual life partner in the world.

“Scott!” Stiles gasps, pulling away and slapping Scott’s arm until he grabbed Stiles’ wrist between his hand with a practiced motion. “Look at his ass: I’m in love.”

“Yeah, buddy. Wanna go say hi?” Stiles gapes at Scott, his jaw dropped low and horror painted across his face that Scott would have the gall to remove him from the dance floor in order to chase a man. Scott just laughs and starts dancing again. Stiles has fallen in love seven times so far tonight, and it’s only 12:30. A few minutes later, Scott pulls out of Stiles’ grasp and Stiles pouts.

“Sco-ott,” Stiles whines. He’s just starting to really feel the music and his high has reached a crescendo. The ecstasy has worked its way into every nerve ending, and Stiles is tingling like his body is made of volatile stardust. His pupils can’t decide whether they want to be dilated or not, which means that everything keeps floating in and out of focus, and Scott _knows_ Stiles thinks that’s the best time to throw your head back and let the colors of the flashing lights flash across your eyes while you dance.

“Dude, I need a drink.” Stiles stops pouting immediately, all wide eyes and sloppy smiles as he pulls Scott to the bar in the middle of the dance floor.

“Shots! Scott, buy me a shot!” He gasps. “Buy me _two_ shots.” Scott rolls his eyes and agrees.

“Only if you promise to drink a bottle of water, too.” Stiles wrinkles his nose, but he knows that he’ll do as he’s told. They get to the bar, and Stiles only ogles two different men while they wait for their drinks. He asks Scott for the time because he loses his phone privileges when he’s planning to get hammered, and, satisfied that he’s not going to lose too much time by staying properly hydrated, slams back his tequila shots and chugs the bottle of water in rapid succession. Scott kind of looks like he wants to be sick while he watches Stiles do it, but Stiles will always remember The Halloween Incident, and how Scott and tequila are no longer friends.

While Stiles waits for Scott to get his drink, he turns his back to the bar and faces the small stage the club has set up against the back wall. It’s empty, but Stiles catches flutters of movement behind the thick, velveteen curtain. The music cuts out moments later, and a spotlight splashes soft yellow light onto the backdrop.

“Gentlemen and gentlemen,” the deejay announces, and Stiles’ heart starts to pound in anticipation that he can’t quite place. There are always stupid, kitschy shows at the gay clubs in town, but the hush that falls over the crowd has him gripping Scott’s arm. Scott pries his fingers off, but Stiles just squeezes Scott’s hand instead. “For tonight’s entertainment, we have a competition! Our two favorite dancers need to settle an argument, and they were hoping you could help them decide.” The crowd cheers, but Stiles remains silent, the rest of the world just white noise as he bounces on his toes, a rush of uppers and booze and nerves.

“Tonight, we will settle the question once and for all! Who can drop it the hottest? Give it up—but keep your pants on—for Jackson the Jock and Big D!” This time, when the crowd cheers, Stiles throws his hands up to join in. He faintly recognizes the stupid Ludacris song that played at every one of his high school dances, and it’s never sounded so good to his ears. The bass is thick and it makes Stiles’ stomach flop. The curtains part just wide enough for one person, and Jackson the Jock, who Stiles has immediately taken to calling Jockson in his head, is the first one out.

There’s no mistaking who Jackson is: he’s wearing a jersey of some kind that’s cropped to just under his nipples, and when he lifts his hands to run them over his chest and neck, Stiles sees a nipple ring glitter against the spotlight. He’s not unattractive, Stiles thinks. He’s hard lines in a long, slim form that clearly mean his body is an investment. His booty shorts start and end at the cut of his hips, and the bottom half of a perky ass hang from beneath the rest of the fabric, clearly needing no support from the shorts. It’s fun to watch him wiggle and gyrate across the stage, especially when he drops, ass to the crowd, spreads his legs and shows off how much control he has over each of the individual muscles in his back, butt, and thighs. Scott pokes him in the ribs and Stiles makes a face over at him.

“I’m _concentrating_ ,” he tells Scott, who snorts at him, but leaves him be. The crowd is effusive in its praise, and when his minute is up, he saunters off to the side of the stage and crosses his arms, pleased with himself. Stiles wonders how much better, and _bigger_ , Big D is going to be. His question is answered moments later, when the curtain has to be pulled open a little bit more to accommodate the shoulders of the man who walks out next. Stiles’ jaw and stomach drop to the floor in tandem.

Big D is a fucking _masterpiece_. Unlike Jockson, Big D needs no gimmicks. He’s bare-chested, and he’s wearing come loose-fitting basketball shorts slung low on his hips that are cut with lines that Stiles wants to shove his face into and lick until he can’t see straight anymore. His shoulders and chest look like they’re sculpted from chiseled marble, and the thick veins in his neck stand out when he turns his ass to the audience and rolls his shoulders to tease at the waistband of his shorts with strong-looking fingers that Stiles wonders about how they would feel wrapped around his throat. There’s a tattoo in the middle of his back that Stiles vaguely registers, but he’s too focused on the way that his muscles ripple whenever he moves to really focus on much else. His arms are a marvel, and Stiles whimpers, unable to compose himself.

It feels like he can’t do anything other than watch and stare, rapt like the rest of the audience, who is screaming and throwing bills at the stage while Big D finally pulls down the shorts. Underneath are a pair of briefs that are tighter than sin, and Stiles can _very clearly_ see the outline of his cock as he rolls his hips in a circle before the bass drops and he’s following it down. Rather than exploiting the booty-popping of his perfect bubble-butt like Jockson seemed to be fond of, Derek drops to his knees, spreads his chest out onto the floor, and swivels his hips. Stiles takes a very audible breath and licks his lips counter-clockwise, the same direction that Big D’s hips are moving as he molests the stage floor. Stiles is out of breath just watching him.

In a practiced move, Big D pushes himself off the floor, propelled from a push up with the muscles bulging in his arms, throws his hands above his head, and hits every bass thump with a pump of his hips as he drops back down. He throws his head over his shoulder like he’s just recognizing that there are other people looking at him, winks, and Stiles’ heart stops to flutter in his chest. Then, he realizes that Big D is staring straight at him. Stiles jerks his head to the left and to the right, but there’s nobody right next to him except for Scott, who is very interested in the straw of his drink. He turns back to the stage, and he’s still staring at him. He smirks, quirks an eyebrow and makes a come-hither motion before running the hand the finger is attached to down his torso. The other hand joins it, and Stiles watches Big D touch every ridge of his abs before pivoting, bending at the hips, and pushing his hands between his legs so that Stiles can see his fingers peeking out from between thighs that Stiles wants to get in between more than he’s wanted anything in his _life_.

Stiles can’t decide if it’s fortunate or a curse when the song ends a few moments later. Big D and Jockson are all smiles and flirtatious glances at the crowd as they congregate in the middle of the stage, but Stiles swears that Big D makes hot and deliberate eye contact with him that makes Stiles feel naked and vulnerable, and his entire body is vibrating. He has no idea who is actually declared the winner of their fake dance club feud, because the minute that Big D is done dancing, Stiles is pestering Scott.

“Scott,” Stiles says, slapping behind him until he feels the familiar comfort of Scott’s hand on his wrist. “Scott!”

“Yes, Stiles,” Scott says patiently, sipping on a fresh drink.

“That one, Scott. That’s the one. I’m in love.”

“Stiles, you’ve said that about—”

“I fucking _know_ I’ve said it about every half decent bubble-butt that’s been here tonight, but Scoot, _look at him_. He looks like he’s made of chocolate and I want to drizzle him _all over_ my face and he was staring at me, I swear.” Scott’s staring at him somewhere between humor and horror.

“Dude. Visual.”

“Sorry, sorry. But, but…Scott come on I ask you to be my wingman like once a fucking _century_ I need you to do this for me buddy okay?” Scott looks up to the ceiling of the club and Stiles has no idea what he’s looking for. Whatever divine intervention he’s expecting is absent from the club tonight.

“Fine. But if you leave with him, I’m not waiting for you outside wherever the hell he lives to drive you home.” Stiles really loves his best friend, so he sticks out his tongue but declares their agreement fair enough.

“Now help me get closer to the stage.” They dance and maneuver their way closer to the stage, where the dancers are half-hopping to the beat and half chatting with each other and the people who crowd the platform. Stiles grabs Scott’s arm before they got too close to the stage, hissing something about not wanting to be too obvious, and they start dancing to the pop song that’s blasting through the speakers next to Stiles’ left ear. It’s a popular enough to draw more people to the dance floor, and Stiles works to create a line of sight from him to the stage. Scott swivels his hips from side to side next to Stiles, who closes his eyes and lets the beat dictate his movements. His hands skate over his stomach and down around his hips, trying to imagine Big D’s fingers on him instead. His cock jumps instantly at the motion, and Stiles throws his hand out to reach for Scott’s neck, pulling him close.

“Give me kisses, Scott,” Stiles rasps into his ear, but Scott shakes his head and pats Stiles on the shoulder apologetically.

“If I kiss you, he’s going to think we’re together or something.” Stiles groans, but knows that he’s right. He huffs a sigh and returns to dancing with vigor that he didn’t know he had. The bass drops, and Stiles is distracted again, taken anew by the way that goosebumps pimple his skin as he dances. The waves of music continue like this for a few minutes, with Stiles cresting over the highs and panting as he dances, until Scott touches him on the back of his elbow. Stiles doesn’t exactly stop dancing, but controls his motions enough for Scott to be able to whisper in his ear without getting slapped in the face.

“Dude, the other dancer is coming this way,” Scott says, and Stiles opens his eyes to see Jockson indeed making his way over to them. Stiles glances up at the stage, but Big D is gone, and something akin to disappointment settles in the pit of his stomach.

“You’re cute,” the dancer yells to Scott, who smiles and shakes his head.

“His girlfriend thinks so,” Stiles answers for him, the answer breezy and light as it passes through his lips. The guy looks over at him, giving him a slow once-over that doesn’t have him feeling nearly as stripped down as Big D’s did. He puffs up a little bit, though, trying to feel confident in the t-shirt that’s two sizes too small and the jeans he physically struggled to get into.

“That’s a shame,” Jockson says, but shrugs like he hears it all the time. He probably did. “Anyway,” he says, focusing on Stiles again. “Derek said there was a kid who looked like he was on too many things but had a mouth that would probably get him in a lot of trouble, and I’m pretty sure he meant you.” All of the disappointment that Stiles felt evaporates from the force of the fire that grows in his belly, and Scott reaches over to push his jaw back up to close his mouth. Stiles doesn’t even bother to glare at him.

“I’m sorry, _what_!?” Stiles asks, and even though he heard exactly what Jockson told him, his mind is reeling, and he still doesn’t believe it.

“He’s taking a break. Thirty minutes in the back. If you tell them at the security door that you’re a friend of Jackson’s they’ll let you in.” Stiles squeaks and Jockson, Jackson just chuckles and pats Stiles on the shoulder. “Tell your friend he can say he’s a friend, too, if he wants,” he murmurs so just Stiles can hear, but Stiles hardly registers it. “Drinks are on the house.” And then he’s gone, dancing his way to the secondary pedestal and getting back to work. It takes Stiles a moment to really process everything that happened, and when he does, his voice is hoarse.

“Scott. Scott! Scotty I love you so much but I swear to every deity that if you follow me into that back room I’m going to scar you in so many different ways that you won’t sleep for months.” Scott laughs loud enough that Stiles hears it over the music, and then Stiles is setting off in as close to a run as he can to the back door for the performers. Thee security guard stops him, and Stiles flashes him a smile, drops Jackson’s name and is granted access. The noise from the music is cut until it’s just a dull thump of bass and beats, and Stiles’ ears are ringing in his head as he pokes his head into different dressing and makeup rooms until he sees Big D…Derek. The name feels sticky sweet like syrup on his tongue.

His back is to the door, and he’s talking on the phone, so Stiles puts a hand over his mouth to stifle his breath while he eavesdrops on the conversation.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” he growls into the phone, and Stiles uses his other hand to adjust his dick in his pants. Of all the different things he imagined Derek’s voice would sound like while he watched him dance, low and sexy and controlling and gruff but also just a little bit caring was not one of the options. “All I know is that I was doing my bit, and then I looked out into the crowd and he’s fucking staring at me like he’s seeing God. His mouth was hanging open like his damn jaw was unhinged, and I don’t think he blinked once.” He sighed at the other voice.

“Yes, I know he’s probably on something. But so are half the people who go clubbing.” The person on the other end speaks, and Derek scoffs.

“You’re an idiot. I’m not bringing him home. I just…told Jackson to find him and he should be on his way to meet me in the back,” he says, explaining himself in a rush. Stiles can’t help it. He giggles into his palm and Derek whirls around, his eyes snapping up to meet Stiles’ at the same moment the voice on the other end of the line screams at him that he’s lost his damn mind. Derek hangs up on her.

“Sisters,” he whispers, and beckons Stiles into the room. Stiles steps in and closes the door behind him. Now, without the buffer of the music, Stiles can hear everything: the hum of the generator, the blood rushing in his ears, Derek playing with the volume switch on his phone, Derek’s breathing, _his_ breathing.

“Holy shit, you’re so much hotter up close,” Stiles breathes, and it’s not what he means to say, but fuck if it isn’t true. Up close, Stiles can see the lines and the deep cuts of the muscles grouped together. Stiles swipes his tongue across his upper lip. He wants to lick between every groove. But from up close, Stiles can also see the nuances in Derek’s face. His mouth looks almost like he’s pouting and his eyelashes are full and lush, covering eyes that seem to change colors. His jawline is strong and structured in a way that makes Stiles want to touch it and learn it under his fingertips.

“What’s your pleasure?” Derek asks, relaxing and looking bemused at Stiles’ outburst.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“What are you on tonight?”

“X, mostly. I smoked a blunt with my roommate on the way here, and I’ve been drinking, but Scott’s a sweetheart. He’s making me drink water, too.” Derek nods slowly, like Stiles’ response pleases him. He sees a smile playing at the corners of his lips, tugging them up just enough for Stiles to see teeth, and he takes another step forward, until he can feel Derek’s body heat radiating against him. “So,” Stiles says, inching closer. “Since your sister seems completely baffled, I’m assuming you don’t do this kind of thing often?”

“What? Invite strangers who stare at me and make me pop a boner during the middle of a routine to the back to fuck? Can’t say that I do.” Stiles wants to be surprised at Derek’s bluntness, but it punches a groan out of him, and Stiles is on Derek in a flash, pressing against him and kissing him hard.

“My name’s Stiles,” he says when he decides that it isn’t an actual necessity for his lips to be pressed against Derek’s. “Your name is Derek. I’m a college student and I work at the school library. And now we’re not strangers anymore.” The whole time he talks, Stiles is kissing and nuzzling his nose along the line of Derek’s jaw, sucking lightly but never settling anywhere long enough to leave a mark. Derek grunts and pulls Stiles’ right leg up, slotting their hips together.

“Fuck,” Derek hisses in his ear, brings up his other hand and pulls Stiles’ hair enough so they’re looking at each other.

“Jeans, back pocket.”

“What?” Derek breathes.

“You said fuck. Lube. Condom. Back pocket. Jackson said you’ve only got a thirty minute break and if you don’t fuck me I think I might literally die,” Stiles whines, and then Derek is pushing Stiles back against the door. His back connects with it in a thud, and Stiles thinks distantly that it shouldn’t be that hot to be shoved around. There are hands in his back pocket, grabbing for lube. Derek gets hold of the condom first and tucks the corner of it between his teeth while he grabs the lube. Stiles makes himself useful again by licking and nuzzling at the expanse of skin underneath Derek’s collarbone while his hands fumble with his button.

“Jesus Christ,” Derek groans around the condom in his mouth, helping shove Stiles’ pants down to discover that he’s gone commando. Derek makes eye contact with Stiles and the eyes that were flecked with a wild spectrum of colors moments ago are so dark that it sends full-body shivers down Stiles’ back.

“Stiles will do just fine,” Stiles huffs, trying to laugh while he shoves his hips against the soft material of Derek’s basketball shorts. “And those fucking shorts are a goddamn sin. Take them _off_.” Derek hooks one thumb under the waistband of the shorts and they’re gone. It’s not nearly as teasing or sensual about the motion like when he was on stage. It’s purely sexual and it shoots a spark of something through the both of them that makes them both pause to breathe for a moment. And then the moment passes because Stiles grabs fistfuls of Derek’s perfect ass with both of his hands and squeezes before shoving their cocks together, and Stiles ruts shamelessly against the outline of Derek’s cock in his underwear, gasping and whimpering.

“Stiles, god, you gotta just…give me like two minutes and I swear to god I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.” Stiles whines and Derek _growls_ like the sounds Stiles makes are shaking his grip on reality. He spits the condom into his hand and presses it into Stiles’. “Hold this,” he instructs, and then he’s pulling open the lube, spreading it on his fingers, and pressing two behind Stiles’ legs and against his hole. Stiles opens his mouth, his head falling back against the door while he tries to breathe, and groans. Derek presses a little harder, and Stiles’ hole gives, fingers slipping inside. Derek pulls out almost instantly, adding a little more lube, nudging Stiles’ legs a little further apart so he can reach better, and going back in.

It’s an awkward angle, Stiles knows, but the way that Derek’s entire body is pressed against him and inside of him and the way that Stiles is trapped beneath him means that he isn’t willing to change it for the world. He whines and tries to shift so that he can really hook his leg around Derek’s hip, to get his fingers a little deeper, but Stiles is twitching with impatience and pleasure until he can’t take it anymore.

“Fuck, Derek. This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy. Put the condom on and _fuck. Me_.” Stiles’ voice is dangerous and demanding, and he figures that it has to break something in Derek, who pulls away to yank off his underwear. Stiles is aware, then, that his pants are pushed awkwardly down his hips and tries to move to adjust, but Derek puts his palm flat on Stiles’ chest, trapping him.

“You told me to fuck you. I’m going to. Just like this.” And Derek’s voice is filled with such conviction that Stiles’ eyes roll back in his head and he comes, just like that. It surprises the both of them, but then Derek makes a noise that’s between a whimper and a groan and he yanks the condom out of Stiles’ hands while he’s still trying to figure out what exactly just happened.

The next thing that Stiles is aware of, his pants are all the way off, and Derek is lifting him up, hoisting him against the door. Stiles gasps and scrambles to wrap his legs around Derek’s back, cushioned by his ass. “Oh my god, I can’t tell if you should be flattered or if I should be so embarrassed right now. I swear I don’t usually—” Derek kisses him to shut him up and Stiles feels the swell of Derek’s cock between the clefts of his ass, rocking, slow but urgent.

“That was probably one of the hottest things I’ve seen in a long time,” Derek tells him earnestly against his lips, and then he’s pushing in. Stiles grunts, scrabbles for purchase against Derek’s shoulders with his hands, and then drops his head down to bite because he can’t seem to get enough of the skin in as many ways as he can get it.

“I guess I’m not really used to being manhandled,” Stiles admits, releasing Derek’s shoulder and leaving blunt teeth marks in the wake of his teeth. “It’s hot…shit, holy shit oh my god, fuck, Derek,” Stiles babbles, infinitely distracted as he feels Derek really breach him, feels how big he really is. He chuckles despite himself and groans, and Derek, thrusting slow and insistent, has the presence of mind to speak.

“What’s so fucking funny?” he asks between grunts. A question so simple should not sound so hot.

“I know why they call you Big D.” Derek grunts, and Stiles thinks that might be as close as he can get to laughter right now, and then Stiles twitches and Derek settles completely inside of him. All of their laughter dies.

“Stiles, you’re so fucking tight. You feel so hot around my cock, holy shit.” Derek’s mouth is absolutely _filthy_ inside of his ear, and Stiles rocks his hips, needy and not above manipulation to get what he wants.

“Fuck, Derek, _move_ ,” he demands. And then Derek moves. He isn’t gentle, and it feels so good. Stiles’ back comes away from and back into contact with the door with the force of Derek’s thrusts, and every time his back hits the door, Stiles mutters new things for Derek to hear.

“Oh, god. Yeah, I love how you fuck me. God, you’re so strong, got me pinned here against the door while you fuck me so deep. Oh, fuck! Yeah, you sound so good, too. I can hear you panting, I know you love it, too. God, I wanna get you so deep in me I feel you the whole ride home.” That one seems to do it for Derek, who redoubles his efforts, and Stiles is fucked dumb for a moment, unable to do anything but grunt and cry out until Derek grabs hold of Stiles’ hips, holding him steady so that he can really fuck him. Stiles’ cock is hard again in an instant, remembering the way it jumped at the imagination of Derek’s fingers. The real thing is so much better, and Stiles knows when he has bruises from this later, he’s going to come over and over to them, pressing down into them to remember exactly what this moment felt like.

“Shit, Stiles. I’m…close,” Derek pants, throwing back his head and getting beads of sweat on Stiles’ neck that drip down his shirt. It’s stained with his own come and sweat, and Derek’s added to it is more than a little bit hot. Stiles pushes his head forward and slams their lips together, open-mouthed and hot and salty and perfect.

“Come on my face,” Stiles pleads, pulling away. “I want to know how your come feels when it’s hot and dripping down my cheek and my lips. Come on, Derek, come on my face. I’ll stick my tongue out for you, make it good for you. You know it’ll be good.” Stiles is panting now, and he’s never really been big on begging, but with the noises that Derek is making as his thrusts inside of Stiles become more erratic, Stiles will be into a whole lot if it means he can keep hearing the way that Derek seems to be coming apart inside of him.

Then Derek shudders and lifts Stiles up and off of his cock in a motion so quick that Stiles hardly has time to whine about the loss before Derek is pulling off the condom and jerking off in unsteady thrusts. Stiles drops to his knees in a motion that he can only consider practiced and presses his face into the base of Derek’s cock, nosing along the underside of the shaft and down to tongue at his balls. His hand is on his own cock, jerking fast and hard and whimpering as he suckles Derek to the edge of his orgasm. Derek shudders and reaches one hand up to pull Stiles’ head back, and, as promised, Stiles tilts his head back, drops his jaw, and lets his tongue rest in the center of his bottom lip.

Derek takes one look at him, flushed cheeks and kiss-bruised lips, and the first arc of come hits Stiles in the space between the tip of his nose and the dip of his cupid’s bow. The second and third land across his cheeks, and the last few land on his tongue. Stiles comes as Derek’s hits him, hot and perfect, across his cheek, shivering as he milks it from his cock. He licks his lips and drags his thumb through the spot of come on his cheek to suck it clean. He knows he looks like a slut, on his knees with his eyes closed and cleaning the come off his face with his fingers, but this is one of Stiles’ favorite parts about sex. He’s spent countless hours on the internet to reassure himself that he’s not the only guy out there who’s really into spunk.

“You missed a spot,” Derek whispers hoarsely from above him, and Stiles blinks open his eyes to see Derek staring down at him with something like wonder on his face. Stiles feels where Derek means and stretches his tongue to just under the bottom of his nose and drags it down, satisfied as he pulls more of Derek’s come into his mouth. “Fuck, look at you,” Derek sighs, and it’s only then that Stiles has the presence of mind to be a little embarrassed. His shirt is ruined and he’s on the floor in some club he’s only been to once, eating a stranger’s come off his face because he fell in love with his ass.

Before Stiles has time to really process his feelings, the door bangs, jarring them back into the real world.

“Hale!” a voice shouts. “You’re on in two minutes.”

“Yeah,” Derek calls back, and turns around to retrieve his underwear. The voice goes away, and Stiles stands up.

“That was,” Stiles starts.

“Yeah,” Derek responds, and kisses him again, deep enough to taste himself on Stiles’ lips, but slow and happy, content and well-fucked written all over both their faces. “I get off at three,” he adds, pulling away and handing Stiles his clothes. Stiles gets dressed quickly, looking down at his shirt and then deciding that fuck it, he doesn’t really care how many people know he got laid tonight.

“Do you wanna do something stupid when you get off?” Stiles asks, a mischievous grin playing across his face.

“Like what?” Derek asks, and Stiles wonders how he can make his face look like the picture of innocence when minutes ago, it was stretched into the most glorious o face that Stiles thinks he’s ever seen.

“Like go against my best friend and your sister’s advice and take me home.”

“Oh yeah? What for?” Stiles just chuckles and kisses Derek again before pulling open the door. The music gets just a hair louder, their moment of privacy a thing of the past.

“Well, for starters, I’ll let you fuck me til the sun comes up.” And then he winks and is out the door, leaving Derek with forty five seconds to get on stage. His tips at the end of the night near the thousands, and he doesn’t ever think he’s made that much at once, but he also doesn’t think he’s ever danced all night for one person before, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Join the madness on [tumblr](http://demigirlisaaclahey.tumblr.com)!


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